Fabulous in Red
by Practical Cannibalism
Summary: TykixRabi, random one shot. Nothing like torture in the countryside, really.


a/n: Wull wull!! I felt like writing something up and it has Tyki- _again_. But I like Rabi too, so here they are, togethers. : Plx excuse mistakes and reviews are always welcome. Disclaimer: I don't own either of them?

There are some things that are easily discerned by simply looking at a person. Perhaps it is their clothing, or their expressive faces; a walk or a flip of their hair. One can guess things about their past, where they are from, or where they might happen to be going. Though, for those who know how, it is easy to dust over appearance and manner. What better disguise is there, than one that people place upon you with their first glance?

So, that when the tall and genteel man walks the streets of the busy city at sunset, the very people he might be out to kill, greet and smile and bow and whisper in his wake. The air about him is fine and fragant and the very sun seems to dip to him, turning his olivine skin to gold. And it is quite impossible to guess, that from this appearance, Tyki Mikk loves the color red.

The sun is very nearly gone by the time Tyki Mikk finds himself outside the city. The country land rolls softly, lovely and lush. The air smells of early spring flowers, and coming rain. Blooming white trees line his path, and pristine petals fall like sweet snow to cover his steps. The sky is a blushing lilac, fading tenderly into a hue of indigo and the road is utterly diserted. But when he hears the sound of distant splashing and soft curses, Tyki Mikk is not surprised.

Deviating from the road, he pads through the powdered trees and over a grassy hillock to find himself rather near the run of a clear and bubbling stream. He smiles knowingly, taking in the scene with his yellow amber eyes; the dusk, the friendly warm land, the crisp stream and the young man who kneels next to it, cursing and splashing, covered in _red_.

The youth is someone who Tyki Mikk has met before. An enemy who had occaisonally proved troublesome and he admired the boy as being a capable exorcist. He admired a few exorcists, really. This one, though, was special.

Tyki steps silently, gracefully. The youth does not know, he is stripped to his trousers, throwing his hands into the water, trying to wash the red away. The blood is sticky and dried, and some is his own. It clings to his arms and chest and back, smears his face with wet streaks, stains his light skin as it stains his clothes. His hair is damp, and though it is a much lighter color, in the night, in the soak, it is cherry-crimson.

Tyki stands behind the young man, noticing the torn and dirty clothes that have been tossed carelessly aside. He breathes in through his mouth, relishing the taste of the bloodied air. The boy hears this and stops, frozen. The rusty water drips from his skin slowly to fall and rest in the crushed grass.

"You're quite... the mess." Tyki speaks through a smirk, his voice soft and confident.

The boy knows this voice well, and turns over his shoulder, his beryl-eye narrowed in suspiscion. "You." he states, calm and without emotion.

"Mmm." Tyki shifts over the ground, closing in upon the other. He removes one glove, the boy does not move. The other glove disappears and Tyki leans over his flesh-statue companion.

"Rabi," his lips to the younger's ear, smokey and hot, "you'll never get clean this way."

The boy, Rabi, spins, a fist flashing. Tyki catches it, snaps it in his hand, twists it away. Rabi winces, but makes no sound. He is shivering and Tyki can see it.

He's not that much taller than Rabi, and their eyes meet. Green and Gold.

"What are you doing here?" Rabi growls out between his teeth, but he can guess already.

Tyki shows his teeth, cruel and hungry. It seems they might be at an impasse, but Tyki increases the pressure on his wrist, twisting and tugging on the joint. Rabi grits his teeth as he stumbles foward, nearly on top of the man in black, and he thinks it might break.

They are but a breath apart, and Rabi knows he can do nothing. He is worn and weakend, without the strength to stuggle. His eyes linger, seeing the two of them. Black and Red. It is now that he wonders what Tyki Mikk might do to him, but he feels no fear, only dull contempt.

"You probably don't know this," Tyki gives a coy sigh, breaking Rabi's thoughts and enjoying the proximity, "but Red, is a color I always take the time to enjoy." he removes his hat and drops it to the ground slowly.

Rabi calls his game, "Really? I feel black is much more _you_." he purses his lips, not hiding the sarcasm from his voice.

Tyki feels a bit put out and makes an exhasperated sound. He looks into the exorcist's face even as he snaps his wrist and Rabi cries out, anger and pain flushing his skin.

"Don't look _that_ way, my dear." Tyki whispers into his neck as he grips him roughly about the waist, throwing him in the ground. Rabi bounces in the grass and Tyki's on top of him with his black clothed knee in his shoulder and a dark hand tightly around his neck.

Tyki's other hand comes and trails up the arm of his broken wrist, feathering over his skin. The slender fingers come to rest in his quickly drying hair, dragging themselves through the mussed fire.

Tyki bends his neck, face touching face. He chuckles smoothely and licks the blood from the redhead's jawline. Rabi breathes in sharply, his senses clouded by a licorice smell drifting onto him from Tyki's shaded curls.

The moment passes quickly as Tyki removes his hand from his hair and the snap of bones and screams fills the peaceful night air.

The moon is risen now, and the stars give twinkling smiles. The snow petals drift on the breeze and move towards the crystal stream. A nightbird sings not far off, and in the city, warm candle light flickers from laced windows.

"I'll have you know, I look absolutly fabulous in red."


End file.
